The Summer Solstice has arrived, and with it, the new adventures of Shrike and Wren!

To celebrate, please enjoy this excerpt from Bookseller & Bone-Setter.

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London, England

1846

Hullvardr perused the book-seller’s stall with an intensity that seemed to unnerve the book-seller himself. An unusually fine spring day had dawned over London, the sun so bright its rays penetrated the perpetual fog. Most other clerks on a Saturday afternoon would probably take the opportunity for a pleasant stroll through one of the myriad parks. If any bothered to buy books, they likely would have taken themselves to Holywell Street rather than the semi-respectable stall Hullvardr had found as an outlet for a gentleman’s reading club. Every quarter the clubbed gentlemen winnowed down the stock of their lending library and sold off the titles they didn’t wish to re-read in order to fund the acquisition of new material. All the better for Hullvardr, to whom all mortal literature felt new, and for Ephraim, who didn’t mind waiting a few months to read the latest novels.

Still, even with Ephraim’s assurances that he would happily read whatever his clerk chose for him ringing in Hullvardr’s ears, the latter took especial care in selecting such titles as he hoped Ephraim would enjoy.

Wagons and carriages rattled back and forth through the street behind Hullvardr’s back, some coming within scarce inches and lifting the hem of his frock coat in the breeze of their wake. He kept his tail wrapped snug around his left leg lest it fall victim to a passing wheel. The glamour covered all, so it remained up to him to protect what parts of him passersby couldn’t see. The mortal children playing in the street had far less concern for their own well-being as they darted to and fro to chase a shared hoop with sticks clutched tight in hand.

“Five shillings for Roderick Random,” the book-seller blurted in a gruff tone.

Hullvardr paused in flipping through the pages of said volume. A glance up to meet the book-seller’s gaze showed a man trying to hide his nerves with bluster. Perhaps the book-seller thought him a thief or a distraction to cover for an accomplice who would scuttle about filling their pockets with novels. Or perhaps the book-seller had no patience left for those supposed customers who’d read entire books on the pretence of “just browsing” and walk away buying nothing. Or, Hullvardr considered as he gazed into the man’s eyes, perhaps this was another case of a mortal man forced to confront his own attraction to masculine beauty and finding himself uncomfortable with his own desires. That happened more often than Hullvardr had expected upon his return to the mortal realm. He took no offense but did feel a sort of pity for them, tearing their own souls in twain for what purpose he couldn’t fathom.

Five shillings sounded a fair price, however, and the book seemed interesting enough. Hullvardr dipped his hand into his waistcoat pocket to pay.

A horse’s shriek tore through the fog.

Hullvardr whirled towards the sound. An omnibus which had rattled past now verged on over-turning as the geldings drawing it reared. The rolling hoop tangled amidst their hooves. The children who’d driven it had scattered—save one, who seemed frozen with fear as the horses threatened to bring their full weight down upon his head.

The book fell from Hullvardr’s hand as he bolted into the street. Fae fleetness brought him to the horses in three leaping strides. He had no command over steeds, but the boy he could grab and fling out of danger’s path.

And half a heartbeat after, the hooves fell upon him.

A dozen blows knocked him to the paving-stones. He curled in on himself and tried to roll out of their way. He made it—barely—but not before several spaded kicks struck his body, and one in particular hit his left leg with a sickening snap like breaking tinder.

One could hardly survive seven centuries altogether unscathed. And while he’d never yet tried his hand at the hunter or warrior life, he’d still had his share of slips and falls over the years. He’d cracked several ribs while ice-skating in his youth—which allowed him to recognize the same sensation now as the severed edges creaked with every breath. The pain in his leg was worse by far, but still not the worst pain he’d ever endured. That dubious honour belonged to a particular incident in his first summer of beekeeping wherein he’d enraged several skeps into swarming him at once. He tried to keep that in mind as he endeavoured to rise and bit back an agonized yelp.

By then, mortals had swarmed the scene. A pair of tradesmen seized the horses by their bridles whilst the driver regained command. Passengers gave belated cries of alarm at the chaos. A man in sailor’s slops halted before Hullvardr and proffered his hand. Hullvardr grasped it gladly and hauled himself upright, bracing against a lamp-post to stand.

The sailor went on his way. No one else seemed particularly concerned with Hullvardr, for which he gave thanks. The less notice he attracted now, the better. With another glance ‘round to ensure he remained unobserved, he dared a peek down at himself.

Nothing appeared amiss. Beneath the glamour, however… Hullvardr swallowed hard, glad he couldn’t see the extent of his own injuries. He could feel the broken ends of bone grinding together, nonetheless. Something between ankle and hoof had gone very, very wrong.

Wandering the mortal realm whilst wearing glamour was a bit like strolling along whilst eating an apple. Easy enough to perform both tasks in tandem without particularly concentrating on either. But choke on the apple, and strolling would suddenly become very difficult indeed. The glamour of straight trousered legs and practical boot covered up his caprine joints and cloven hooves. For now. He forced himself to look away.

A boy stood not far off—the self-same boy, Hullvardr realised, whom he’d shoved out of the horses’ path.

“You there, lad!” Hullvardr shouted, willing his voice not to crack with the pain.

The boy’s eyes flew wide. He didn’t appear ungrateful, exactly, but he did have the look of one about to bolt.

Hullvardr knew what would make him stay. “A shilling for you if you see me back safe to Staple Inn.”

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You can read A Nest Within Briars wherever you find your fave books.

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That’s all for this Nothwell newsletter – and as always, thank you for reading.

– Sebastian